Sherlock, Ive got to talk to you
by arlottaness
Summary: Its London, in the early seventies and Jane Watson needs to talk to her friend and fellow spy, Sherlock Holmes. AU Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy/Sherlock.


**Hello Everyone! Let me set the stage here. Its Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy meets Sherlock. BBC gone crazy. Anyway, Jane Watson is a secretary in the British government, an ex-army nurse, she studies medicine at night. Sherlock is a spy working under his uptight older brother, Mycroft.**

**This all came to me in a dream, (no joke) which explains why John is Jane here ;) I plan to expand this into a full story soon, but for now, here is just some nice Le sexy times.**

**If you are under eighteen DO NOT READ THIS OR I WILL DIE OF EMBARRASSMENT FOR SCARRING YOUR YOUNG MINDS.**

**I will hunt you down. enjoy!**

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I remember it perfectly, like the entire encounter is set into glass slides in my brain. I can take them out and look at them whenever I want, slide them into the microscope we all have in our conscience and pick it apart.

I can see the suit he wore, slim, and tan, with a blue tie. Graceful hands making gestures of impatience with his hair brushed messily across his head.

"I've got to talk to you Sherlock." I called.

"What?! What do you want?" he whined, stepping into the lounge car.

"Just come here, c'mon." I waved him over to where I stood, in front of the pristine white and blue bathroom with the carved door.

Mycroft sat, legs crossed in one of the plush brown leather arm chairs that formed aisles in that car. He glanced up from his paper, bothered by our talking.

Sherlock shifted his weight from foot to foot, glaring at his brother and I widened my eyes in impatience. I was going to do this if I had to drag him over here. But I didn't have to. He strode across the deep red carpet, tossing his briefcase on the dark wood of one of the coffee tables and annoying Mycroft further.

"Close the door and lock it… please." I said softly, chewing on the inside of my cheek from nerves.

"Why?" he narrowed his eyes impatient. The train was going to depart in minutes.

"JUST do it." I shoved my nerves further down into my stomach.

He closed the door and turned the lock then stepped further into the tiled room. The sink behind me, and toilet and shower a few feet behind that we had a space of about three feet by two in which to stand, and for some reason, in his impatience, Sherlock had decided to stand inches from me, arms hanging by his side, studying me.

"Look I just wanted to say-"

"Goodbye?" he smirked, placing a hand on my shoulder in jest. Oh he had no idea.

"Yeah, and sorry. Sorry for …" I paused, nerves threatening me to abandon the line of conversation. We didn't have much time and all I wanted was…

"What?" he shook his head, questioning me.

I put my hand on his shoulders, and looked at the floor, our feet were inches apart. "This." One hand grabbing on tight to his tie, the other snaking around to cradle his neck, in what I wanted to be a swift, smooth move I yanked is upper body forward, stood on tiptoe and slammed my lips onto his.

I'd thrown my head forward a bit too hard and in his surprise his mouth had opened slightly, so I could feel his teeth for a bit, and for a second he stood motionless, utterly shocked. I had my eyes squeezed closed, but I could feel his hands pressing against the walls to avoid falling on me. My fore arms bent, shoulders high, my hands held onto his face firmly, squeezing his cheeks against mine, our noses nestled side by side.

Suddenly we felt the train lurch into motion sending us rocking back and forth. I wasn't even meant to be on this train, and Sherlock wasn't meant to be in this car. His ticket wouldn't get punched, but that thought was miles away from my mind. I could catch another bloody train, who cares?

When he regained his balance and I was flat-footed again I felt his hands pressing lightly against my shoulders, trying to ease me away. I had no reason to continue, neither of us had moved our lips, and time seemed to drip by, while he still put pressure on my shoulders in resistance, but I still had him pressed to me, not even taking in the sensation of kissing him, really. I peeked one eye open and saw his, wide, looking at me, eyebrows knit in confusion. When his arms finally dropped I stepped back, panting from loss of oxygen. He was panting too, his tie loosened and looking awkward.

My nerves turned from butterflies to something else, making my face flush and stomach clench. His face was still centimeters away from mine, he was leaning and I thought he would straighten his tie, nod and leave, but he just stared at me, his eyes still wide.

"Sorry." I could barely here my own voice.

"No." his voice, which always took my breath way in normal circumstances, was so low, almost inaudible. I did dark things to my stomach.

"Huh?" I could feel my heart shatter, crumbling like a wet heart-shaped cookie. But before I could ask what he meant more articulately he had leaned down and _placed_ his open mouth on mine again. Gently, not moving, eyes still opened.

I'd only ever been kissed once before, by a drunken friend at an office party, it'd been searing and alcoholic, but he'd known what he was doing. An expert he was. But Sherlock… his kiss was feather light and warm; he didn't know what he was doing. It made me feel mature and like we were equals.

I boldly snuck my tongue out and ran it across his broad bottom lip. He breathed into my mouth, his lips were so soft, and his eyes closed. When he pulled back again further this time, I whined, and that seemed to set him off. He yanked his tie off, dropping it, and with a few swift moves had his suit jacket off and on the tiles too.

Our arms fought for room as we both went for the others buttons. His fingers moved effortlessly, undoing my dress down to my bellybutton. I pulled his shirt out from where it was tucked into his trousers and ran my fingers over his torso. I felt like giggling when I felt his chest hair, light and soft.

He had his hands on my jaw bone, and when I got his shirt to drop to the floor he pulled me face back against his. Wrapping my arms around his waist I splayed my hands across his back. He had one hand on my shoulder, the other arm wrapped around my ribcage when he picked me up, turned and pressed me against the wall.

He undid my bra with his left hand and it too dropped to the ground. My mouth made its way across his jaw to just under his ear. I panted, breathing deeply, memorizing the smell of his cologne, deodorant, him. His face was in my hair when drew my fingernails down his chest, and with the palm of one hand, pressed the bulge in his groin. He emitted a deep groan and his forehead dropped heavily into the crook of my neck. I lifted my hand to rest cradling his hip.

For a moment we both stood, leaning into the other, foreheads to shoulders, panting. I had never done this, goodness knows if he had, and despite my gumption and boldness I had no idea what I was doing. I was going on instinct and want and what I heard my girlfriends whisper to each other on their smoke breaks at work, the time that secretaries took to share dirt.

Nothing about this was how I expected it. The way his lips and tongue moved in my mouth, the overall wetness of such a thing surprised me, and how _soft_ such a lean man felt, how amazing the pressure of his chest against my bare breasts, the thrill of feeling him through his trousers, flinching when my hand pressed him. Wasn't he supposed to be hard down there? Or was Sherlock unlike other men? I smiled, nearly giddy, thinking; I don't care, its Sherlock, I love him, and he is one of a kind.

I felt his hands on my bare chest where before there had been the incredible feeling of skin-on-skin. I watched him, stroking me with his thumb, his large hands able to cradle my ribs at the same time.

"You want to?" I whispered, scared he was just doing what he thought I'd expect of him. I knew mine was the only opinion he cared about, the only person he would go a bit further to impress.

"I wouldn't have kissed you back if I didn't, Jane." His voice octaves lower than normal. It made that place below my bellybutton spasm.

Suddenly he was everywhere on me, hot velvet on my breasts, gentle hands cupping my bum through the skirt of my dress, thigh hitched up between my legs, lifting me against the curved edge of the sink. I moaned at the feeling of him between my thighs and he ground his hips against mine.

"Sherlock…get…ah…dress off me." I hissed when he slid his palms up my calves.

But he didn't maneuver it off me; instead he struggled for a second undoing my garters, and peeling my nylons off, his head resting against my chest to see what he was doing. I gasped at the feeling of his fingertips brushing around my upper thighs, and sunk my hands into his curly hair, which splayed pleasantly about my chest.

When his wonderful lips returned to mine I hooked my fingers into his trousers, pulling his hips closer to me, and undid his belt and zip, and pushed them down his legs. I couldn't resist my curiosity to touch him then. I used one hand on his lower back to bring him even closer, and then, exploring, cupped him. He made another guttural sound which made me squeeze more, reflexively.

He pushed my hand away and with one of his, ran it up my left thigh and brushed over me. I whimpered in his ear then, biting my lip. I can honestly say I'd never _wanted_ like that before. I needed him, I felt like I was going to die if I didn't get more contact, 'draw him closer' my body screamed.

"Sherlock…" I whined into his ear. Gripping his shoulders and pulling him through the length of my skirt to wrap my legs round his hips.

"Wha…" his words were lost when I pressed myself against him, heat rising up to my cheeks. He bucked against me then, exhaling as his lips searched for mine. He had his eyes closed tightly, with a slightly pained expression, which alarmed me at first, until I felt myself make a similar one when he stroked me down there again, more firmly this time, to judge my reaction obviously, because he opened his eyes to watch me.

I'd heard it would hurt, when a girl did it for the first time. But a muscles a muscles right? I just needed him to go easy, though I was nervous off the bat because if this was his first time too… while I'd be ecstatic, it might be harder. Speaking of which, _he_ most definitely was. My abdomen ached when I felt his erection against my right inner thigh. I could feel his pulse through it.

Sherlock had pulled my panties out from under my bum and was watching me now, an unreadable expression in his eye.

"Sherlock…" I tried to sound seductive, but it came out very breathy which seemed to work. He snaked one arm around my ribcage so I wouldn't slip into the well of the sink and I felt him slip his finger into me, it felt uncomfortable.

The girls at work always said bigger was better, but even one of his thin fingers felt massive inside me. I nuzzled my face into his neck to hide my discomfort and squeaked suddenly when his thumb brushed over a spot above his fingers. He did it again and I couldn't feel the discomfort any more. I was frozen stiff, enchanted by the feeling.

"Jane… relax for me." I heard his voice soft but insistent. So I did relax. I trusted him with my life and everything else, I was nervous that he wouldn't trust _me_.

Something was building down there, and it felt lovely to smell him at the same time, holding me steady. His arm muscles cradled my upper body. Then I peaked, nearly slipping of the edge of the sink, I bit into Sherlock's shoulder lightly, moaning.

I don't know how long I stayed there smiling into his neck. But when I came back down to earth Sherlock was kissing me again, tongue waging war with mine.

"_Jane_." He moaned, "I have to…" he spoke into my mouth, his last words, from what I could hear, sounded reluctant.

I pulled away and took the waist band of his boxers in hand, and slid them down. He hissed, I squeaked. His cock resting against my thigh. More curious than anything at that second I gingerly wrapped my hand around his shaft and stroked him to gauge a reaction. His fingers tightened around my ribs and he purred, _purred_, and bucked into my hand.

"I don't know how… come closer Sherlock" I whispered, pulling his shoulders towards me. "Have you ever…"

"Twice, but not… completely or… satisfactorily."

"Oh, not…all the way?"

"Or for pleasure." He _blushed_, and looked me in the eyes. "Jane, do you really want me too… I mean... me? I just thought, marriage, you know…" He was very distracted with where my hand still held him, stroking him with my fingertips.

"I want you Sherlock. Its ok, you're not taking anything away from me."

He closed his eyes and stepped forward, his hips snapping again as I let him go. Just as the tip of him brushed me, his forehead against mine, we both groaned and I looped my legs around his waist, pausing, then I pulled him in and…

A small flash of pain. I felt my eyes water, but hearing Sherlock moan, open mouthed into my ear kept me from wincing. I could feel him flinching, trying to keep still for me, but I knew that wasn't going to work.

I wiggled my bum and heard him hiss, still uncomfortable I moaned, "Move, Sherlock"

He pulled out slowly and pushed back in the same way a number of times before it began to feel natural. I'm sure he could see it in my face when he glanced up at me, but that melted away when he reached down between our heats and flicked that same spot.

Eyes closed, hips ground and bucked and we developed a rhythm. We were both so awkward at first, I know that now, but at that moment it felt like heaven to feel him and hear our moans and grunts bouncing off of the tiled walls. When his rhythm broke off from mine and he tipped me back in his arms, he hit a spot deep inside me that made me yelp and grip his shoulders. I felt the same explosion, longer this time, fireworks exploded behind my closed eyes. I suppose it sounds clichéd, but I'm being honest.

With one final pulsation, I heard him make a sound like I'd never heard before, a long deep moan.

"I love you." I breathed.

We stayed that way for a while, I don't know how long, but I know I was smiling like a fool, and Sherlock was panting. We both jump when someone knocked rapidly on the door.

"Pardon my disruption _dear _brother, but I believe you and Miss Watson have yet to pay your fair for this trip. Also, when you're through, we have _business_, Sherlock. That is the point of this ride."

I couldn't help braking into frenzied giggles when Mycroft's ever-annoyed, ever-politely- snobbish voice came through the door, muffled by the sound of the tracks. Sherlock pulled away, chuckling in that way of his that I adored. Pulling up his boxers and trousers he helped me off of my porcelain perch. When he looked spick and span again, he graciously helped me with my buttons and rearranged my hair, probably making it look better than before. There was no hope for his though, and any spy worth his salt would be able to know exactly what he'd been up to.

"No matter," he smiled. "All the more convincing a cover, don't you think?"

Laughing and nodding I reached for the handle, but Sherlock caught my wrist.

"Jane, I…" His eyebrows knit again. "I don't really know how to convey this… but I need you to know-."

"I love you too, Sherlock. I know."

Recomposed, we stepped out into the car to get our tickets punched and a few dirty looks from the brother of the man I loved.

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**Be kind, its my first racy fic. Thanks for reading! If you read it, consider reviewing! Its nice to do folks, do the nice thing! **


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